


Out Of The Shadows

by oyaoyakodon



Category: BLACKPINK (Band), EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Curse Breaking, F/M, Forbidden Love, Immortality, OOC Chanyeol | Rose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oyaoyakodon/pseuds/oyaoyakodon
Summary: His entire existence was just pitiful and tragic; until he met her. She was everything he desired to be and didn't know he desperately needed. Could her light chase away the darkness?
Relationships: Park Chaeyoung | Rosé/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Out Of The Shadows

Chanyeol had always cursed his life.

From the very beginning, when his parents had been murdered, he had known that something wasn't right with him. It was like a shadow, a certain darkness that always followed him around.

For years he tried to ignore it, but his constant attempts to reverse death made it impossible to pretend like it wasn't there. Still, he fought against it.

His intention was never to fall prey to the darkness, but once Ankhseram cursed him, resisting became futile. He received an unbreakable curse that made him take lives without warning or reason.

The more he cared, the more he killed.

There was no way out. He was trapped as a murderer against his better intentions; so Chanyeol chose to isolate himself. Thinking that being away from life would aid his desire to stop the curse; but that had been naïve.

Death would never stop haunting him. It was the eternal shadow that reminded he didn't deserve to live anymore. In truth, he didn't even want to.

That didn't matter, though. The curse made him immortal and thus centuries passed as he began to lose his mind. Hatred, sadness, anger, frustration.

He became nothing but a mad man; desperate to die yet unable to do so.

He lost everything and he lost himself. The darkness took over, tearing him apart, and he gave up. It was no use fighting against it anymore and he was tired.

300 years. Had it really been that long? Sometimes it felt like only yesterday he had been cursed, whereas others it felt like forever ago.

Eternity. He was doomed to stay like this until the end. What would that even be? How could there be an end to his suffering when he couldn't die?

Chanyeol had tried; many times, and in various ways. Drowning, hanging, stabbing, crushing. Nothing worked. His body had become too strong and he hated it. Hated that cursed 20 year old body in which he was trapped.

He would never age, never see himself become a real man. Never fall in love, get married or have children.

His entire existence was just pitiful and tragic; but also, eternal.

Fate is a tricky thing to manipulate.

When Chanyeol dies, the world will be fine again. When he—this insatiable monster with black-felt wings, is no more, Chanyeol will finally sleep. Will breathe. Slowly, quietly, somewhere hidden, deep in a vault of purgatory.

Hell fire and reprisal. He understands loathing better than anyone else.

• • •

Thing without choice,  
man with a soul.

Being without delusion,  
woman with a vision.

There is madness in the water, sickness in the trees, and massacres rising at his hand unrivalled, Chanyeol stops.

And then he sees it, senses them. Big brown eyes. Big brown cathartic eyes.

That is the first thing he notices about her.

And then he wanders into the thick, distracting forest willingly, knowingly aware that there is no way out.

She is not plain, rather a beauty, nymphean allure and bedazzling enchantments, he notes.

“You should not be here.”

He steps closer, she stands still.

“Leave!”

He can almost touch her. She curls her toes into the grass instinctively.

“I am not afraid of you,”

He is tempted to test her words. She cannot stop him.

“Please,” she says confidently, taking small steps forward in his direction, “I want to be your friend.”

He gives her a small smile. Full of rue and amazement and incomprehension, it quivers on the fine edge of his mouth.

Rosé is a saint among the garbage, the adamant rubbish.

And she is going to pay down in hell.

She smiles.  
Small, unsure, but genuine nonetheless.

That much Chanyeol can tell upon their second chance meeting near the forest meadow ten years later. Her bare feet pound against the grass, kicking up blades of grass with every footstep as the wildflowers mingle between her toes.

Rosé engulfs him in a heart-warming embrace. It is a simple enough gestur. Thankfulness, devotion, perhaps the fragile beginnings of love. The arms which are wrapped around him are small, soft even, yet so strong. Never felt he more soothed than in this moment, Chanyeol realizes.

And only once she is gone does he comprehend how hard it is to come across beings who are genuine.

Without a doubt, he mimics her expression.

Indeed. Energies are contagious.

Born they are,  
between overwhelming contradictions  
and the assertiveness of immortality.  
Here is to the brave,  
to all the people petrified.

Rosé never expects it, that he will offer her a companionship. Chanyeol holds her, almost afraid that if he stops, she will disappear and that this would have all been a dream—or a nightmare. She never dares to think about the specifics, but has an awful, nasty sensation prickling her skin. That this was something like suicide.

But she agrees to stay, for now because the sound of his voice—when he asks, subtly brimming with loneliness and alluring darkness—just damn near tears her heart apart.

“Rosé,” he gasps as he reaches shakily, desperately for her shoulders, “Stay.”

Continuously over, and over again, the world rejects him.

Rosé shakes her head.

“I accept you,” her voice is soothing and eurythmic, “because we’re the same, Chanyeol. Like you, I was cursed too.”

She consumes his mind, calls out to him like a siren as he is pleading for release and an emollient for all the centuries traversed by burns.

“Let’s look for a cure,” there’s a pause and then, “together.”

Fingers touching, hands linking, Rosé thinks that there’s no one more beautiful in the world. His lips brush against hers, and Rosé feels herself falling; he tastes like poison and white chocolate, a flavour that when combined causes death.

Love.  
Places miracles.  
Without,  
means tragedies.

Fear and fatalism are debilitating enemies.  
They plant lethal seeds that only sprout years into the aftermath.

Fated to meet, destined to part.

Chanyeol's face is full of despair. Quiet, shocked and almost mournful, he stares down at Rosé. He coughs, resists the sudden inundation of tears, and fights the repulsion rioting in his stomach. Chanyeol watches, silent and cautious. It’s pointless. Rosé is gone. And there will be no love for him this time around.

Remember: demons don’t cry, and demons don’t feel.

• • •

In the daily maze of flesh and rage,  
she received  
a tender touch,  
born again in this world, she became the hero. The hero that was destined to kill Chanyeol—with her own hands

“I’ve lost control, please save me from myself”

Someday the world will end. Someday, he will expunge it of disease, of rot, joyless laughs and enduring betrayals. Promises. Half-broken, yet-unrealized. All of it, gone. The world is rotten, wicked in decay. But he will make it all right.

The world begs to be killed.

One by one, he will oblige.

And finally, the day has come. Just when he finally met her again in this day and age, as it was written in the stars—this time too, they will need to part.

Fire is an invitation for provocation.

Blood slides down her arm and soaks the soft material of her dress, but yet, even though pain fluctuates on her face, the defiant stance, tense body and angry crease on her forehead indicates that she isn’t about to go down without a fight.

And Chanyeol looks at her cruelly and beautifully and full of the world’s ugly.  
“What is it that you want, Rosé?”

“Our deaths.”

Young but exhausted, a woman who carries the weight of the world on delicate pearl-wings.

Frantic, she hits her hands against his chest. A single tear slides down his face at her antics, followed by another one, until soon a steady stream of salty tears flows down his cheeks, relinquishing the sadness and sorrow that has been held inside him for centuries. At the same time the girl with divine, brown eyes lets out a heart-wrenching wail, followed by a series of overt tears. He can taste her rage. He can taste her sadness. Bitter and icy like metal-coated almonds, it claws at him, aiming directly for his organs. She is unyielding in her interrogation, demanding why he did what he did: do you know how many people have died? Because of you—

“Because you loved me. All because I hesitated in my feeli—”

Calmly, he grips her thin shoulders. For a moment, he thinks her eyes reveal fear and distrust but he banishes the unpleasant notion.

Rosé would never fear him.

“I know that no one is capable of loving me. I’ve realized that much over the past couple of hundred years.”

“That is not true,” she smiles sorrowfully, “You made me the happiest.”

Paralyzed, Chanyeol gasps as her arms encompass him, pulling herself closer and closer until she fits perfectly against his naked chest. She inhales the acrid scent of blood, mingled with his familiar smell of wet leaves and freshly cut grass.

“It will always be you.”

And then, her mouth descends upon his. Only this time, there is no gentleness or patience. No precautions and restraint left to squander.

They can demolish their guards this one night and pretend that they aren’t the demon and the hero. 

A boy and a girl. A girl and a boy.

Chanyeol, she whispers.

Rosé, he breathes.

So the saying goes.

Home.

They took all the blame,  
searching for purity.  
They put an end to it all— this cruel curse of immortality  
floating like two leaves in August,  
exactly where they want to be.

In the end, it is him and her.

• • •

In the middle of August, when all the flowers are blooming and dying and perpetuating at the same time, she is feeling sentimental, Rosé goes down—  
Down the street and does not look back. Does not toss her head and smile and laugh and instead, there is a desperation rising in her eyes. Her legs are moving on their own, and her hands are shaking. And she is serendipitous, and like all the beginning-of-summers before, Rosé walks.

Slow and careful.

And meets him at the end.

“I thought you would come,” she smiles.

And this is when her throat chokes up, and his fingers come–rough, competent, way too tangled. And soon, she’s caught in this too-tight, too-warm and real embrace. This time, at a moment like this. Together.


End file.
